


21 - Draft Folder

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Confessions, Day 21, Depression, Epistolary, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Letters, M/M, Post series 4, References to PTSD, That means gay sex, happy ending guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 08:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10963176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is doing his best friend a favour by doing some routine maintenance on John's laptop. While doing so he stumbles across a well-filled file folder.





	21 - Draft Folder

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad. :( Now I'm going outside to do yard work and pretend I'm okay.
> 
> Okay, there are weird spacing issues that I will need to manually change later. Just ignore them for now.

John just couldn’t seem to remember to do even the most basic maintenance on his laptop. Most of the times that Sherlock _borrowed_ it was spent updating things and scanning for viruses. John’s porn habits had nearly been a problem on several occasions, not that Sherlock embarrassed the soldier by letting him know exactly how well he knew John’s browser history. He had long since stopped doing things to aggravate John, their friendship was too newly repaired to take any strain.

John was at work today so Sherlock was taking the opportunity to clean up John’s machine. The doctor had complained of sluggishness and other maladies, all easy fixes for anyone with even the slimmest skills unless you were John. Sherlock found it amusing that John was a hardened battlefield surgeon able to cobble an operating theatre out of a burned out transport unit and a length of sheeting still couldn’t clean out the digital garbage that accumulated so quickly.

Sherlock was browsing the filing system, checking manually for incorrectly saved files. John had a terrible habit of dropping files any old place and then claiming they were lost. Sherlock had just learned to go in, quietly collect the stray files and drop them into a single location. He did locate something that seemed rather full, a file folder that had dozens of documents in it. Sherlock was a bit puzzled because John really didn’t have many organisational skills with his technology so he clicked it open.

Everything was a text document. They were untitled but in numerical order by the template so that when he got to the bottom of the list he saw that _doc021_ had been created only that morning. Curious, he clicked it open. He was startled to see his name at the top of what looked like a letter to be printed out.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I copped out again. This morning when you asked if I wanted to join you at your parents for the weekend I said no and told you I had to work. Well, I do have to work but you know I would have skived off in an instant for a case so it wouldn't_ _have been any harder to do to go see your parents. Instead, I'm letting you go by yourself because I don't_ _think I can do this in front of them, not any longer. It's_ _too hard. I'm_ _giving up._

_John._

 

Sherlock’s heart hammered in his chest. _What was John talking about? What couldn_ _’_ _t he do any more? Why hadn_ _’_ _t he just spoken to Sherlock about whatever was bothering him? What was going on?!_ Agitated and concern Sherlock clicked onto the first one, not surprisingly titled _doc_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I've_ _just moved back to Baker Street and this time I'm_ _going to do things right. Harry is going to raise Rosie along with her wife Clara but we can still see her all we want. It's_ _the best solution. I know it's_ _entirely selfish but I loved our old life together. I'm_ _a wreck now, I can't_ _look after my baby girl when I'm_ _such a mess. I'm_ _still struggling with PTSD and I'm_ _petrified with fear that I'll_ _hurt her during an episode. It's_ _a real wrench, letting her go. It's_ _for the best, it_ ' _s for her. She deserves parents that can be there for her day and night. Harry can_ _’_ _t have children and she offered, I feel horribly guilty but relieved. My girl will be safe with her aunt and Clara is a paediatrician, can_ ' _t be more looked after than that, right? I can_ 't _say the same for that around here, not that it_ 's _your fault. We live dangerous lives and we have enemies, we had enemies before my baby was born. Most people don't_   _even know I have a sister, so again, it's best for Rosie. I told myself I'd_ _talk to you about some of my plans but decided to write out my words first, you know, to practice._

_John_

 

Sherlock sat back and blinked. John hadn’t told him about his arrangements with Rosie, not directly, at any rate, Sherlock had understood. The flat was a risk. The two adults that lived there were prone to unintentional violence while they were asleep due to their various issues, they were in therapy, after all. They’d had Rosie over many times, always a welcome little guest, the next generation of sunshine, just like her dad. They were even developing the habit of inviting Molly Hooper over to see Rosie. The doctor had spent many weeks in charge of the little one and loved her as much as John and Sherlock did. Mostly though, Sherlock and John took indirect routes to go visit Harry and her little family. Sherlock hadn’t really considered that John was not making straight for his sibling’s home, he’d cleverly distracted Sherlock with points of interest en route, always encouraging Sherlock to help John learn more about London. He opened _doc001_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I am a coward. I'v_ _e been back for three weeks now and we'v_ _e already fallen into our old routines. It_ ' _s like you never went away and I never got married. It_ ' _s wonderful and awful at the same time. I need to tell you something._

 _John_.

Sherlock suddenly felt anxious. _What was John trying to tell him that he couldn_ _’_ _t just say to his face over breakfast? What was on the doctor_ _’_ _s mind all these weeks?_ He opened _doc002_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_Today was difficult. I feel like I'm being torn apart. I'm still so angry about so many things. I can't_ _find a resolution for a lot of them because the people responsible are long dead. You'd think that would make me feel better but all it does is make me furious. I'm sick to death of secrets, Sherlock. Where were you? Why did you leave me alone? Why did you come back and take me in again? Why do we hurt each other so fucking much?_

_I am human garbage._

_I hate myself._

_I need to clear the air with you and I'm_ _too fucking useless to do it. If you knew how spineless I am you'd lose all respect for me, if you have any left. You shouldn't,_ _I don't deserve it._

_John_

 

Sherlock was horrified. He knew John was battling with depression. All the upheaval in his life had left their mark but he hadn’t truly understood how John felt about himself. It made him feel queasy and almost dizzy. He opened _doc003_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I'm glad you'll never see these stupid letters. You loathe people who are overly emotional and I am just such a mess. I cried today. I missed Mary for no real reason. She's dead and she wasn't_ _even really Mary Morstan, she was some incredible actress who sidelined in assassination and espionage. I built an entire life around a person who wasn't even real and I missed her. I don't_ _know who it was who died in that aquarium, whatever her code name was. Maybe she loved me but she couldn't tell me the truth ever, could she? No, it was lies right from day one. I guess that's all anyone thinks I deserve, lies and duplicity. I'm_ _so fucking stupid for swallowing all of it. How everyone must laugh, even you. Especially you. You think everyone is an idiot. I am one. I'm_ _deficient. Clearly, I am._

 _You lied to me for so long, and, while I understand why, it still hurts. I feel guilty for feeling hurt because of how much you suffered on my behalf. You were dead, Sherlock. Two years dead to me. I never thought I'd_ _survive losing you. I was going to kill myself, I had it all planned. Whoever it was that Mary was saved me, and I am so fucking mad about that. Why? Why did she bother? Why save me, make me alive again, lie to me for so long, have a baby even! Rosie didn't_ _deserve this! She didn't_ _deserve to have such horrible people for parents. She's_ _better off somewhere else where she's_ _safe and shielded from the madness._

_I need to tell you something but I am too cowardly._

_John_

 

Sherlock felt his very soul twist with worry and concern. John had saved this file days ago, weeks ago. Anxiously, Sherlock ran through his mind palace, searching for moments he’d spent with John. He re-examined the soldier and in retrospect, Sherlock could see the misery and strain that he was under. To be fair to himself, he had also been recovering from a great deal of physical trauma and wasn’t up to par with his observations, most of which had to be made with one eye until the one that John had punched so effectively had healed again. He opened _doc004_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I need to tell you something. Why is it so hard to just tell you? Not telling you is destroying me. You need to know._

_John_

 

Sherlock opened _doc005_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_You insane fucker! We almost died today. Again. It was fantastic. I can't believe how much I missed this. You're amazing. I need to start telling you again, all the time._ _I ordered paneer for you tonight. You always loved it. I was happy to see you clean your plate for once._ _I need to tell you something but now I'm_   _worried that it's a bad idea._

_John_

 

Sherlock recalled the case. They had been running from an entire gang of very disgruntled drug dealers. They had barely escaped death only because they’d run smack dab into Lestrade, Donovan, and a host of other police who managed to catch and arrest the heavily armed miscreants. John had laughed during the cab ride home. Sherlock remembered it clearly because he’d stored the rare occasion away in his mind palace, hoarding it carefully because he didn’t know when John would laugh again. He opened _doc006_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I'm trying to make things right. I feel awful. You were so sick today. I saw your back and I wanted to be ill right there on the spot. I am absolute trash for laying hands on you after you suffered so much. I was so angry, I overreacted. I wasn't properly mad at you, even. I was just … it doesn't matter. I took out my anger on you instead of the ones who deserved it. I'm trying to make it better. Saying I'm sorry just doesn't seem to be enough but I am. I know I've told you that but I'll keep trying to make it up to you until I'm not ashamed every second of the day._

_I need to tell you something but you don't need to hear it. I think it's a mistake now._

_John_

 

_doc007_

 

_Sherlock,_

_I changed my mind. I'm going to tell you. I am._

_John_

 

Sherlock didn’t enjoy the anxious feeling that was building. _What was so dire that John agonised so greatly about it?_ He opened _doc008_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_Okay, here it is. I'm going to give you this letter to explain everything. I know it would be so much better if I just said things with my mouth using my words but I can't seem to manage. They're stuck in there but I really need to tell you._ _Maybe I've made this too difficult for myself. I don't know how to begin explaining things. I'm confused and adrift but I know if I can just do this, everything will be easier. I know it._ _I want to let you know the truth about something, something I've hidden. See, years ago, I was with someone. This was a long time before we met and I'm not going to mince around here, but they were amazing. I was so gone for them I just couldn't see my life without them in it. Clearly, it didn't work out but the why of it is part of the problem I'm having now._

_Trust issues, remember?_

_It looks so easy to overcome when you just look at those two small words but I never could figure out how to go about it. It used to be easy for me. I knew people, I could rely on them. Things were solid. Concrete. Then my relationship happened and for the first time in my life, I learned what it was like to be deceived._ _I don't mean lies. Lies are small compared to deception, at least, that's my feelings about it right now. I admit that I'm pretty raw about it, and that's part of what I need to tell you. I'm torn up about it. Something I used to be able to do so easily was now covered in doubt. I doubted people. I doubted myself. I didn't know how to accept it, how to deal with it._

_This isn't right. This letter is a bad idea. I can't just write it out and then just let you read it. That's cold. That's not what I'd want and I shouldn't expect you to have to accept that._

_John_

 

Sherlock sat back. _John was clearly experiencing a great deal of turmoil about something._ Sherlock examined his mind palace before admitting that he knew little to nothing about John’s past. The soldier was closed-mouthed about his life before the army, and Sherlock had to painfully admit, he hadn’t asked a lot of questions. Regret filled him. _He_ _’_ _d missed something important, something that had been there for a long time but what?_ He opened doc009.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I should never have asked you to be my best man. That was horrible of me. It pained us both. It bothered me so much but not for the reasons you likely are imagining. It's so much worse than that. Sherlock, I am so sorry for putting you through that. I had my reasons at the time but looking back, I can't see that my reasons were a good enough excuse to do that to you._

_I have to tell you something. Why is this so hard?_

_John_

 

Sherlock felt panic now. _He wished John would just spell it out. He wished John had made a list, a bulleted one, something where he tried to organise his thoughts but wrote out The Thing he needed to figure out! This was maddening_! Sherlock opened _doc010_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I am broken inside._

_John_

 

Sherlock felt his heart begin to thump unhappily. Worry was coursing through him. There was something very wrong with John, and he needed to know what. _Was he sick? Was he in some kind of trouble? Was it his past, had something from his past returned to trouble him again?_ Sherlock opened doc011.

 

_Sherlock,_

_Some of my best moments are when we sit in the park and don't say anything. I'm at peace then. Things are good then. We had that today and I feel it still._

_John._

 

This eased and worried Sherlock. He felt grateful that his friend had found some comfort but he wasn’t any less anxious about the mysterious thing that troubled John. He opened doc012.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I am to blame for so many things. You paid a far greater price than I, so why is it that I am in so many pieces while you have managed to get yourself together? You don't deserve to have to put up with my shit._

_John_

 

Sherlock recalled a particularly trying day recently, one where John had been angry and snappish, short-tempered and impatient. Sherlock deduced that John’s shoulder was playing up. John didn’t like admitting that it kept him from sleeping well and that the lack of rest had put him on edge. Sherlock had played soothing music on his violin to calm John and then had orchestrated a long evening in front of a roaring hot fire, complete with endless cups of tea, and really low budget movies, John’s idea of heaven. Sherlock had been glad to help John get over his rough spot. _It wasn_ _’_ _t John_ _’_ _s fault that his injury would never heal properly and that it would always be a bit painful, no matter what. It would wear anyone down._ Sherlock had also suffered a great deal but his physical injuries were no more than non-debilitating scars and a penchant for horrific nightmares. Sherlock hardly slept anyway, so the bad dreams didn’t happen as often as John’s did. He opened _doc013_.

It was blank.

Sherlock opened _doc014_. It was blank as well. He checked _doc015_ all the way to _doc019_ before he found something. Sherlock realised that John had tried to write this letter once a day, and had saved each draft simply to mark his progress, whether he wrote anything or not. Sherlock was now reading _doc020_.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I once trusted someone with my heart. It didn't turn out well. They cheated on me. They lied to me about it, for a long time. They broke my heart but they also damaged my dignity. I was so … sickened, by what they had done. The very idea of being with them after that repelled me but at the very same time, the feelings I had for them were still there. It pulled me apart, my very essence trying to go two separate ways at once. I grieved for that relationship because I believed it was one strong enough to last a lifetime. Instead, I learned that they'd stepped out on me, had done for months. I never knew, never suspected, never once was suspicious and why? I trusted them. I loved them and I thought they loved me enough to respect me with the fidelity we'd asked of each other._

_Apparently, that promise was broken nearly as soon as it was made. Then, after I enlisted, I heard they got married to someone else. Two kids now, happy as can be. That made me bitter because they were faithful to someone else but apparently, I didn't deserve that because I certainly didn't get it. I swore off relationships after that, kept it strictly sex. I was never coy about it, I never led anyone on. It was just some fun and relief for two people together then off back to our separate lives._

_I trusted someone with my heart a second time. It worked out even worse than the first time. She lied about everything. She killed my best friend (yes she did, you died on the table twice, that's murder), her name wasn't her name, her life wasn't her life, and her past nearly killed us all. Now I'm paranoid. I can't even be friendly with people without becoming suspicious. I can't have a regular conversation anymore because I don't trust the people I'm chatting with. I can't raise my daughter. I can't even work regular hours because I just can't handle the commitment, being on-call is just easier. It's awful. I'm so unhappy, Sherlock. I need to tell you something, something simple, but these things, all of it, they're keeping the words inside. I need help._

_John_

 

Sherlock was breathing hard. The last one, doc021 said John was giving up. _Giving up what? Trying to tell Sherlock something, or was John considering giving up something far more difficult to fix? Was John planning his way out? Was this his note?_ Sherlock took action. Whipping out his mobile, Sherlock tapped out a text and sent it off.

 

_Medical emergency at the flat. Come home. SH_

 

The answer wasn’t long in arriving.

 

_Are you bleeding or in any immediate danger of expiration? JW_

 

Sherlock was undeterred. He had no problem lying if it meant resolving something. Good thing he didn’t need to because he had _all the symptoms he needed to get John home. The letters had triggered a response in him, and if not stopped soon, would be highly unpleasant for him. He staggered to his bedroom. It would be better if he were laying down, safer._

 

_Might be having a panic attack. Respiration well above average. Heart racing. Anxiety at maximum. I need you, John. Come home. SH_

 

His mobile pinged.

 

_Calling another doctor to cover. Will be home in twenty minutes. Keep your mobile on you. Call me if you need me. I'll get a cab. Just try to breathe. JW_

 

Sherlock’s hands were shaking now and he fought the tidal wave of irrational fear that was filling him. Worrying about John’s secret had stressed him. Sherlock wasn’t able to deal with many complex emotions at once, his nerves couldn’t take it, not anymore. He wasn’t implacable, not any longer. Torture had changed him rather severely. Sherlock was as stripped and exposed as a live wire. He climbed into his bed and pulled his duvet over him. With trembling fingers, he sent another text.

 

_In my bedroom. Come directly in. SH_

 

It took several minutes before John replied.

 

_In a cab now. Home in ten. Deep breaths, Sherlock, deep and even. JW_

_Are you alright? JW_

_Sherlock, are you able to answer me? I'm calling Mrs Hudson. JW_

Sherlock opened his eyes and read the notifications.

 

I'm here. _Eyes closed. Breathing. My bed is cold. SH_

_You left your window open. The mattress is likely damp. Go to mine. JW_

 

Sherlock crawled out of his chilled bed and climbed the stairs to John’s room. Stiffly, he fell into it, rolling under John sturdy woollens and intricate quilt work blankets. It smelled like John and Sherlock felt himself relaxing. He kept his eyes closed though, the world was filled with too many sad feelings. _John was hurting and thought he was broken. Sherlock knew he was broken too and wasn_ _’_ _t sure how to help repair John. Maybe they could just be ruins together. That would be acceptable, as long as it lasted for the rest of their lives_. Curling up as best he could, Sherlock closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift.

Someone was stroking his hair, touching his forehead, “Shh, I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here now. Shh shh shhh. I’m here. Shh shh shh. It’s me. I’m here. You’re here with me and it will be alright.” Sherlock found that he was hyperventilating, filled with terror that had no reason to be present but would not leave. There was warmth against his back, around his waist and without opening his eyes, Sherlock twisted around and clung. A gentle hand ran through his curls and down his back, “There we go, there you are, shh shh shh, I’m here, Sherlock, I’m always going to be right here.”

_John._

_It was John._

_John was here and things would be alright. He’d said so_.

“John, don’t leave me.” Sherlock wept. He was still filled with fear he couldn’t define. “I did it all to save you because I can’t live without you. I need you, John, I need you!”

John’s body stilled but then he seemed to press closer, his caresses still warm and soothing, but a strange tension that had been inside John for ages was markedly absent. Even in his distress, Sherlock sensed the difference, “I need you too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock composed himself, taking several long minutes to control his breathing, to allow the fear to melt away, to soak in John’s heat, John’s comfort, John. When he was able, he just said, “I found your letters.” John went rigid but didn’t pull away, “John, what is it that you need to tell me that troubles you so greatly? Is it something I did? Something someone else did? Something you did? Whatever it is, you can tell me, you can tell me anything. You’re my best friend John, the only person in the world who even wants the job. Please, tell me.”

Sherlock felt John’s mouth against his scalp. John wasn’t exactly kissing his hair but he was pressed there, inhaling deeply. _John was smelling Sherlock’s hair to brace himself!_ “Okay, here it is. I’m just going to say it and not…” John took a deep breath, his arms squeezing Sherlock just a bit more, “I…I…I’m in love with you, Sherlock. I guess I have been since we first met but I didn’t even realise until I’d lost you. When you came back, I was with Mary and I…I punished you for tricking me by continuing with the wedding, even though I thought it was a mistake, which it really really was. I was furious with you for deceiving me for so long, I felt like such a fool. I didn’t see that we both had been played into a corner, that you had zero choices in how it all worked out. You did the only thing you could in order to save my life and it meant lying and leaving. For me, love and trust go hand in hand. I can’t give one without the other. I wasn’t sure if I could trust you again after so great and complex a lie but after I moved back, I realised that I’d never stopped loving you. Not being able to show you, or tell you, it was worse than anything. I feel like I’m the one who’s been lying, I’m the one who has been deceiving you, and I hate myself for it. Then Mary shot you, she killed you, and I absolutely shattered. If it hadn’t been for Rosie, I would have killed Mary myself, I would have, I would have. Yes, I loved Mary Morstan but Mary Morstan isn’t the woman who played her. She was a character played by an assassin who was trained to use people like me to get to people like you and your brother. I was just... _access_. That hurts. She used me and it made you and I both suffer. Every pain you endure is my fault. I should have told you I loved you years ago, then none of this might have happened. I love you.”

 _This? This was John_ _’_ _s terrible revelation? John loved him and he clearly thought that Sherlock would find it undesirable or lacking in worth?_ “John Watson, I have loved you so much that every enemy I have in the world can see it. You have been the target of as many painful experiences as I due to that fact. Everyone knows the fastest way to hurt me or stop me is to threaten _you_. You are my greatest strength and my only weakness. You are the only person I want to be with. You are the only person I would trust with myself. I trust you. I have faith in you. You’re my conductor of light, John, how can you have forgotten that?”

Sherlock felt John shaking and realised that the man was crying. Sherlock managed to shift them enough so that he was the one holding John, allowing John to relieve his misery, to cry all he needed. He made soothing sounds, rubbing John’s back, using the tips of his fingers to massage John’s scalp, anything he could think of to ease the ache in his friend’s soul. Sherlock tilted John’s head back and pressed their mouths together. John kissed him back, desperate, and needy.

Desire punched through Sherlock body hard and fast enough to make it almost impossible to breathe. They needed this. They need it now. Somehow Sherlock tugged up John’s jumper, the tails of his shirt, and was trying to tug down John’s trousers. John was trying to undo the knot of Sherlock’s robe, and both of them were failing. “Get up.” John barked.

They nearly fell out of John’s bed, yanking their clothes off, reaching out to touch and caress each other. They were equally desperate, equally frantic. The need to connect with each other was the only thing driving them. It a few short minutes, John had Sherlock pinned beneath him on the bed, his small body grinding and rutting against Sherlock’s. They were both hard, their kisses filled with teeth and moans, their hands touching everywhere they could reach. John almost forced Sherlock’s thighs wide, slotting himself into position and thrusting. His cock ground against Sherlock’s and they both gasped. “I want to be inside of you,” he groaned, “I can’t wait though, not now, I can’t wait.”

“John, don’t stop.” Sherlock found his hips were thrusting upward and that he was almost willing to let John fuck him without preparation. Only the fear that John would hate himself for hurting Sherlock physically kept him from suggesting it. Instead, he surrendered himself to John’s wild needs, needs that matched his own. “Finger.” Sherlock took John’s hand and sucked his index finger, pushing John’s hand down to his own arse. John didn’t need much encouragement and Sherlock sighed happily when it pushed inside, working in and out steadily.

Sherlock was grateful that his arms and fingers were long. He pulled John on top of him, thrusting up to make John moan. The finger burned a bit but it was far from awful. He wet his own finger and treated John to the same experience, receiving eager moans as payment.

They rutted, rubbing and kissing and fingering each other. John’s hips moved steadily, grinding small circles, pumping regularly. The heat between them grew more powerful and now Sherlock spit on his other palm, transferring the slickness to their cocks. “Yeah, love, just like that. I need you to keep touching me just like that.”

John was braced on his fists, fucking his body down over Sherlock’s, his buttocks clenching Sherlock’s invasive hand. Sherlock missed the penetration he’d been enjoying but the pleasure that was spiralling upward was excellent too, “John, please. Kiss me.”

John did. Their mouths met, tongues swirling, chests pressed together as John pushed and pushed and pushed. They were sweating now, their skins making damp sucking sounds as they moved. Suddenly, John began to move faster, his pace still regular but now filled with determination, “Sherlock, I’m…”

“Yes John, yes, that’s it. I love you, John. I need this so much. Please, please John, I’m…oh!” Sherlock felt his testicles draw up tight and he seemed unable to breathe for a long moment as everything inside him tightened and tensed. John’s cock nearly stabbed him in the belly and hip and the oddness of it was enough for him to crest on, his orgasm making his entire body shake as he shoved his finger deep into John’s arse and held on with his other hand so that their cocks stayed tight together, “I’m coming!”

Sherlock heard John’s cries. They were harsh, rough, and deep. Warmth flooded over his stomach but the bliss was too acute for him to take in many more details. When it subsided, Sherlock was splayed out on John’s bed with John nearly unconscious on top of him, both men breathing hard and covered in sweat. “Woah.” John huffed weakly, “I don’t normally go off so quickly.”

Sherlock could care less. “We came off together. I’m fine.” John chuckled and Sherlock enjoyed the ease of it. John’s entire body was lax and he loved it. John wasn’t tense anymore, he wasn’t unhappy anymore. “I do love you, John. I want to be with you. I will never want anyone else, I can’t. I’m only for you, I will only ever be for you.”

“I believe you.” John raised his head and looked into Sherlock’s eyes, “I trust you, Sherlock. I love you. I want to be with you too, only with you. You have been my entire world since the day we met.”

“I’m sorry I read your letters without asking.” Sherlock didn’t want John to be angry with him. Full disclosure was necessary.

“It worked out for the best. I was tearing myself apart. I don’t know why. Maybe I felt like you would be repulsed or something. I’ve been so awful to you.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. He held John close even though their semen was getting cold and rather unpleasant feeling, and the sweat on his skin was cooling enough to make him feel clammy. “Let’s go wash up.”

“Okay.”

John allowed himself to be led to the shower in the nude. They washed one another and kissed a bit more. Sherlock dared to creep through the flat to fetch their robes and then John took him to the kitchen to make tea. They sat on the sofa to sip them down. “What does this mean now?”

John thought for a minute. “I want to be with you. I want to be your best friend still but I want more than that.”

“You can have everything, John. If you don’t want it, no one else will have it. I’m not that way, you know it.”

“I do.” John thought for a moment, “I want to start again with you, make a new beginning. I want to have a life with you, our life, the life that makes us happy. Maybe in time, I can become a better father to my daughter but before I can do that I need to fix so many things that I’ve let go wrong. Can you be patient?”

Sherlock kissed John tenderly, “You’ve always been more patient with me than anyone. Of course, I can, John. This is it then, our new beginning.”

“I’m glad you found the letters.”

“I’m glad I found you.” Tea forgotten, Sherlock and John lost themselves in one another again. It was time to complete the healing, putting themselves together by being together. They were finally where they’d needed to be so many years ago, and neither man was sorry for that. They had love, at last.


End file.
